


Verdant

by donotjustlive_fly



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 16:21:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19154647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/donotjustlive_fly/pseuds/donotjustlive_fly
Summary: Aziraphale is fairly certain he’s never been to Crowley’s flat before.A moment of peace after The End and before The Beginning.





	Verdant

**Author's Note:**

> Hello to new faces and, uh, long time no see to folks who have been here from my Sherlock or RTAH days! I fell madly in love with Good Omens and the ineffable husbands in the first episode before the opening credits even rolled, and was itching to start writing the darlings by the third episode. I look forward to hopefully writing more as I get more comfy with their characters!
> 
> Unbeta'd and possibly a bit off voice-wise as this is my first go at writing them. Hope you enjoy!

Aziraphale is fairly certain he’s never been to Crowley’s flat before. Historically, any time spent in one another’s company was either out in the world or, in recent decades, his own bookshop. He’d never questioned it- it was (mostly) rare that he actively sought out the demon, and on the occasions he did he usually ensured it was in a neutral location. Crowley, however, had no qualms about popping into A.Z. Fell and Co. unexpectedly or inviting himself over for a nightcap after a meal out. Aziraphale never complained, of course; he was incredibly fond of his cozy little shop, and if Crowley seemed his most relaxed surrounded by dusty old tomes, well, so be it.

Back to the point at hand, though.

Somehow he’d always imagined (when he allowed himself to contemplate) that Crowley’s flat would be all blood red and midnight black, velvet and silk and decadent luxury. Aziraphale is therefore surprised when he’s greeted by cold grey, more stone tomb than- well, whatever he’d pictured before. He’s still staring around the entryway in mute surprise when Crowley brushes by him with a muttered, “Make yourself at home- back in a tic.”

Curiosity peaked, Aziraphale strolls from room to room, each one stark and lifeless, utterly lacking in personal touches aside from a scattering of tasteful art. He’s struck motionless for a moment by a shockingly intimate sculpture, doing his best to press down a peculiar blush, but a low rustling from behind him catches his attention. Further investigation reveals a small, bright room filled with greens- and every single leaf of said-greenery trembling with what he can only recognize as ‘fear’. Aziraphale reaches out before the decision to do so fully forms, his fingers gentle as they stroke the leaf nearest him. “Hush. Don’t fret- what has you all so spooked, hm? Did you feel the Apocalypse brush us by earlier? You’re alright now, I promise. Safe for now, for hopefully a very long while. There you are, easy does it...” He makes his way around the room slowly, little miracles dancing at his fingertips as he soothes and heals and strengthens. Greens deepen and grow richer, flowers bloom where there had barely been buds before, and once he’s completed the circuit he steps back with a satisfied nod. “Yes, that’ll do quite nicely.”

“Not quite what I had in mind when I said ‘make yourself at home’, angel...” Aziraphale startles at the soft drawl, spinning to see Crowley slouched against one of the doorways, his face unreadable behind his sunglasses.

“Oh, my dear, I apologize, I merely- that is, they were-“ A fond smirk spreads across Crowley’s face as Aziraphale stumbles back into silence; the demon removes his shades and tucks them away, revealing his tired yet content gaze.

“I know I don’t _really_ need to tell you this, but you’re a bloody miracle worker. I’ve been- ah, _talking_ to these bastard for years now and they’ve never looked this...”

“Vibrant?”

“ _Alive_. Maybe they just needed an angelic touch.” Oddly, Aziraphale finds himself blushing once more.

“Yes, well, I’ve always had a bit of a green thumb, as it were.” He holds up a thumb, showing off its (temporary) verdant hue and feeling pleased when Crowley laughs. “Your flat is, um, very...”

“It’s just a place to go when yo- when I’m not out causing chaos. Never felt the need to put down roots. Aside from-“ Crowley gestures expansively at the room, and Aziraphale allows the aborted sentence to pass without comment as he reaches out to touch one of the blooms.

“It has a certain charm. And it’ll do quite nicely until I can find a new place to- but, oh, that’s terribly presumptive, you only offered it for the night, didn’t you? My apologies, my dear, I-“

“ _Shh_. For Sa- someone’s sake, breathe, angel. You can stay as long as you need. What kind of a- a friend would I be if I kicked you out? Besides, you’re already paying your keep by playing ‘gardener’.” He winks, brushing past the thrice-flushed angel and continuing back down the hall. “C’mon, Aziraphale- bedroom’s this way. I have a strange feeling we’re going to need all the rest we can get before tomorrow...”


End file.
